


heartbeat

by cecropia



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, One Shot, Slice of Life, just a reference to connor's scars, larry gets sick, rating was upped bc of implied sexual content, they talk about the times they've done sexy things, they're in college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 09:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecropia/pseuds/cecropia
Summary: It wasn’t a surprise when Larry got sick.Not to anyone, really.





	heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> hi y'all!!!  
wassup, it me, back at it again with the hurt/comfort  
tl;dr: larry has liver problems, evan and connor go see him in the hospital. connor's trauma through evan's eyes.  
this one means a lot to me, like... this is the first thing i've loved that i've written in a while, so i rly hope u enjoy it. dedicated to the lovely human being that sent me the nicest message ever on tumblr a few days ago, thank u <3  
let me know what you think!!!! <333
> 
> come talk to me! c-e-c-r-o-p-i-a on tumblr :-)  


It wasn’t a surprise when Larry got sick. 

Not to anyone, really. 

From what Connor’s said, Larry’s been drinking for years. Like,  _ years _ years. Like, since he was a teenager. Binge drinking. Not just a beer or two on the weekends, but  _ many _ beers. Every night. 

And also from what Connor’s said, it’s never been an issue. Cynthia got the worst of it when Larry would drink in front of Connor and Zoe, but since they’ve been grown enough to recognize what it is, he hasn’t drank in front of them. At least not to the point he used to. 

Which is good, he guesses. 

Evan’s not quite sure if that’s the entire truth, but Connor’s past has never really been a topic he feels like he can just ask about. It doesn’t ever feel like the right time.

But these days, Larry’s liver is a very common topic of conversation. And even though they live an hour from home, tucked away in their shitty little apartment at the edge of campus, it still manages to reach them. As much as Connor tries to ignore it, to pretend like it isn’t happening, it always gets back to them. 

It’s a text from Zoe, a call from Cynthia, an email from Larry because he doesn’t like instant communication. Larry never mentions  _ it _ , of course, because he and Connor are from the same thread. They like to pretend nothing’s going on, like everything’s normal when that’s the furthest from the truth. And when Connor’s eyes go blank after reading an email or text or after he gets off the phone, Evan’s there. He’s always there. Connor will silently stand, gathering his things, and head back to the bedroom. And Evan will follow, Connor’s body seemingly steering his brain instead of the other way around. 

And when Connor sits down on the bed, staring at the ground or nothing at all, Evan sits next to him. Just exists with him. He lets Connor stew in his feelings, or cry into the blankets so softly Evan’s not even sure if it’s happening, or punch a pillow until the fluff bursts from the sides, or grab onto Evan so tightly that it tugs at the deepest of Evan’s heartstrings, or whatever Connor needs to do in that moment. But Evan doesn’t leave. 

He’s never left. 

So when he gets back after one of his later classes, taking quiet comfort in the jingle of his keys as he leaves them on the hook beside the door, he’s surprised to see that all the lights are off and Connor’s not in his usual spot on the couch. He likes the left side, leaning against the arm of the couch with his head in his hand, scrolling through his phone. Or Evan will come home and he’ll be laying upside down, face red from the blood draining downward, smiling this goofy smile at Evan and it makes it all worth it. All of it. The stress of fifteen credit hours plus per semester, and his mother’s weekly hour long calls, and turning in papers and assignments he doesn’t understand five minutes before they’re due. Coming home to that crooked smile and sarcastic dry humor he’s come to love is  _ enough _ . It’s so much more than enough. 

So when Connor’s not on the couch, no take out boxes on the coffee table or fast food wrappers in the trash or even a morning coffee cup in the sink, Evan’s worried. Connor’s boots are next to the door where they usually are, his coat draped haphazardly over the coat rack, almost about to fall off like it usually is. That’s normal, at least. It almost makes Evan smile, but.

Evan flicks on the light; pulls his scarf off, wiping the melting snow off even though he knows it won’t matter when it comes to drying time. His coat is thrown over Connor’s, because Evan just doesn’t have the energy to care after a two and a half hour lecture about shit literally no one cares about, and he knocks off some of the snow before he toes off his boots and pushes them up against Connor’s. His book bag is placed on the kitchen table, the chinese food he got for the two of them set carefully next to it. 

And he takes a second to just admire. Next to the door one of Connor’s boots is knocked over, leaning against the other, and Evan’s are pressed right up against Connor’s. And their coats are layered over top of each other, their keys side by side on the key hooks, and for some reason, it makes Evan’s heart soar. 

And then he hears the wind gust up against the windows and remembers how eerily quiet the apartment is. 

He turns on the light in the kitchen and steps over to the couch, flexing his frozen fingers and blowing hot breath on them to warm them up because he’s still too stubborn to wear gloves. And because his mom isn’t here to tell him to wear them. 

And because on Thursdays he doesn’t drive to class with Connor, who  _ also _ tells him to wear them. 

The blanket they keep on the couch is hung neatly over the back, just like they left it last night. Connor’s messenger bag (that he still takes to class despite the fact that Evan’s told him over and over that it’s not good for his back to have weight on only one side, he’s gonna get scoliosis) is propped up against the coffee table, just like last night. Evan remembers kicking it on accident as he got up to get them drinks, about tripping over it and attacking Connor with tickles when he laughed at him. 

Which could mean one of two things. Option one: Connor managed to put his bag in the exact same spot, the strap thrown across the floor as the optimal tripping hazard just like the previous night because Connor’s pulling a prank on him. 

And option two: Connor missed all of his classes today. Which would explain the lack of texts and sent Instagram posts and snapchats. Alright.

Swallowing the fear bubbling in his throat, Evan steps carefully over Connor’s bag and into the hallway. The lights are off here too, the bathroom door shut tight and the laundry room eerily cracked. Evan closes the door as a force of habit. It’s everything Evan hated about being home alone when he lived with his mom, the creaking of the floor underneath him and the dark shadows and eerie atmosphere. As he approaches the bedroom, he has to count his breaths so he doesn’t start having an anxiety attack. 

Connor’s fine, he tells himself, and he’s fine, and ghosts aren’t real. 

And thankfully, when he opens the door the hallway light is enough to illuminate a strip of their room. Evan notices a familiar mess of brown curls poking out from their shared comforter, letting out a sigh of relief as he crosses the room. Connor’s face is smushed into the pillow, so much that Evan can’t see his face, but he’s breathing. That’s something. Evan takes a seat on the edge of the bed, just watching, and then he reaches a tentative hand out to rest gently on Connor’s shoulder that’s shrouded by the blanket. He feels Connor’s muscles jump the slightest bit beneath his palm and he strokes his shoulder with his thumb a couple of times.

“You awake?” He says softly into the darkness, barely making out the shape of Connor’s hair. 

He waits a second. 

Not a sound. 

But Evan knows better. 

Connor’s way too rigid to be sleeping, for one. Two, he never sleeps on his side like this, facing away from the door. He almost exclusively sleeps on his stomach, hugging the pillow to his face. And three, he’s on Evan’s side of the bed. Which is never a good sign.

“Want me to leave or stay?” He says quietly, gently, running a hand through Connor’s hair. “I brought us Chinese.”   
  


Connor shudders at the contact, burying his face into the pillow. “Stay,” He croaks. “Not hungry.”

“Okay, I’m here. Not leaving, just getting comfy. Need anything?”

He feels the bed shake, Connor’s shaking his head. 

Evan gives one more scratch to Connor’s head before stripping out of his people clothes and into his pajamas, pulling on the tshirt that Connor loves the texture of because it’s old and worn and it’s been through one too many wash cycles at Evan’s old house. He closes the door, watches as the beam of light disappears and the room is swathed in darkness. And he blinks the darkness out of his eyes, waits just a second for them to adjust from the streetlamp outside reflecting off the snow and into their bedroom window before hesitantly making his way over to the bed.

His palms land flat on the cool sheets, sliding around as he searches for the warm body he knows was there, like, literally two seconds ago. And then he jumps out of his actual skin when he feels a hand grasp onto his, pulling him into the warm nest of pillows and blankets. Evan’s arms automatically wrap around Connor underneath the blanket, holding him so close so fast that he hears Connor take a surprised breath in through his nose. But just as quickly he adjusts to the touch and his skin is so  _ warm _ , like he’s been here all day, he’s burning up. 

“Missed you,” Connor whispers, crackling voice breaking. He curls his hands up against Evan’s chest, cheek pressed to Evan’s shoulder. 

He seems so small. 

“Missed you too,” Evan says genuinely, rubbing Connor’s back. His voice is muffled by Connor’s hair. “How was your day?”

It’s something Evan’s learned over all these years of being best friends with Connor. And being  _ with _ Connor, and being around Connor. Asking what’s wrong will get you nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. Asking what’s wrong is like pushing that red button you’re not supposed to push in those action movies, immediately sending Connor’s walls up and trapping him in his own mind, and then he’s practically gone and doesn’t come back for hours at a time. 

Connor just sighs this broken, defeated sigh. He nuzzles into Evan’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Evan agrees. 

“It’s…” Connor trails off, shifting so one of his knees is between Evan’s. “I’ve just… not been… good. Today.”

“I know,” Evan says gently. “I didn’t get a single Instagram meme from you today.”

Connor lets out a gust of air through his nose. “Dumbass.”

“Maybe,” Evan quips, moving one hand up to hold Connor’s head to his neck. He starts untangling Connor’s curls one by one. “Your dumbass.”

Connor lets out another breath that just seems to suck the life out of him, he crumples against Evan’s chest and breathes a sharp breath in through his nose. “Fuck,” He sniffs, shaking his head. “ _ Fuck _ .”

And Evan’s silent. He presses a kiss to the top of Connor’s head, acting as a sort of shock absorber as the soundless shivers rack Connor’s body, his shuddering breaths breaking Evan’s heart into little tiny pieces. 

But still he lays there without a word, holding Connor to him in hopes that it helps even the slightest bit. 

“Zoe called,” Connor laughs bitterly, “She called me. She  _ never _ calls me.”

“Yeah.” Evan rests a gentle hand on the back of Connor’s neck.

“So, like—” Connor clears his throat with a huff, becoming increasingly frustrated at himself for crying. It’s something they’ve talked about, something they’ve worked on, Connor’s ability to be vulnerable. It’s a work in progress. “So of course I knew it wasn’t good.”

Evan pushes the hair off of Connor’s forehead.

“Larry’s in the hospital again,” Connor says, his hopeless voice cracking on the last word. “I have to go home tomorrow. Mom wants me to come  _ home _ . So. You know what that means.”

Evan sucks in a breath. “Yeah,” He breathes out, tightening his grip on Connor’s body. He removes a hand from Connor’s hair to thread his fingers between his, and Connor’s curl around his without question. 

“Fuck,” Connor says again, “Fucking—  _ fuck _ this. I shouldn’t even— why do I even give a shit? It’s not like he ever— fucking—” 

“Hey,” Evan says softly, pulling back to look Connor in the eyes. They’re bloodshot and red, they’re hopeless, looking for something to hope for, and Evan can’t help but caress the side of his face with the back of his hand. “He’s your dad. And— and he treated you like shit, but… I guess a part of you’s always going to feel… I dunno. Guilty. Responsible.”

Connor bites his lip, tightens his jaw. He looks away. “Yeah,” He whispers. 

“Like, I still— I still get upset about my dad, you know? And I feel like— like I should have tried harder to be a better son or— or I should have reached out to him in high school, I should’ve gone and seen him, but… obviously I didn’t. But I think about it every day.”

“You don’t owe him shit,” Connor sneers, resting his chin on Evan’s chest and wiping his nose. “ _ Fuck _ him.”

“But the  _ point _ is— even though he was awful to you, you still… I don’t know. He’s a huge part of your life, you know? You’re allowed to… feel bad. And cry. And all that fun stuff.”

Connor just whimpers, pressing his warm cheek against Evan’s and throwing his arms around Evan’s neck. 

“Fucking sucks,” He sniffs, shaking his head. “I don’t  _ want _ to care. I want to be fucking mad about it. I wish… I wish I was able to just not give a shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I wish I was still angry at him. It would be so much easier.”

“I know.”

Connor takes a breath. “I don’t even know what fucking time I’m supposed to leave tomorrow. It’s like… it’s like, I... feel like I should leave  _ now _ , I dunno. I feel fucking useless just sitting here doing nothing.”

Evan presses his hands to the warm skin of Connor’s back. “Do you want to go tonight?”

Connor sighs. “No.”

“Okay. Do you want to go alone?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says honestly, reaching for one of Evan’s arms in the dark. He trails his fingers up, finding his way to Evan’s chest. He presses his hand to the spot right above Evan’s heart, and Evan’s hand covers his own. It’s a thing for them, something they do to feel grounded. To be reminded that they’re both alive, they’re still living, and they’ll still be living when all of this is over. Sometimes it’s a couple fingers on Evan’s wrist when Connor’s angry in public, or on the underside of Connor’s jaw when Evan’s having a panic attack, but this. This will always be Evan’s favorite. 

“That’s okay,” Evan says to him in a voice only ever used for Connor. “You don’t have to know. We can figure it out tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Connor breathes out, relaxing his fingers against Evan’s chest. Evan imagines he can still feel the thrumming of his heart beat under his fingers. “I wanna sleep now.”

He sounds so broken. Like he’s been sleeping all day but he still can’t keep his eyes open, drooping against Evan’s chest and letting himself unwind in Evan’s arms. 

“Okay,” Evan says, voice breaking with all the emotions that have suddenly welled up in his chest. “Okay, we can sleep.”

“Love you,” Connor exhales, exhausted. 

“Love you too. So much.”

… 

Well-rested Connor is so different from exhausted Connor that it’s hard to tell that they’re the same person. 

At least, Connor in  _ this _ situation. Connor in this situation is Connor in rare form.

He’s got his knees pressed to his chest despite the  _ countless _ amount of times Evan’s told him that it’s fucking dangerous to do that in a moving vehicle, but Connor just stares straight ahead and turns his music up louder. Evan can hear it clear as day even though Connor’s got earbuds in. And Evan’s got to constantly remind himself that Connor’s  _ hurting _ , that he’s just going through something right now and he doesn’t mean to be an asshole.

At least, Evan doesn’t  _ think _ he means to be an asshole. 

But he’s being a fucking asshole.

They’re sitting in silence now, Evan’s jittery hands tight on the steering wheel. He almost can’t focus on the road because his mind is moving a million miles a second. Connor’s taking literally everything out on him even though Evan’s been nothing but sweet to him, skipping his Friday classes and offering to drive even though driving is the most anxiety-inducing thing in the entire world to him. And he’s being met with walls. And anger. So much anger that he hasn’t seen in such a long time.

_ You didn’t have to skip class for me.  _ _ You _ _ chose that, not me. _

Evan holds back an eye roll, shifting in his seat as he remembers the conversation from just an hour earlier. It’s making his fucking blood boil.

_ I’m not— you know I didn’t mean it like that, Connor.  _

His free leg starts to shake. 

_ No, I know, I’m such a fucking burden to you.  _

Evan’s getting rashy just thinking about it. He can feel his chest start to itch, and surely it’s turning red. He hopes Connor doesn’t notice. 

_ I’m allowed to be stressed about my classes, okay? I want to do this for you. That’s why I’m doing it. _

Evan just has to get over it. Stop thinking about it. Let it go.

_ Yeah, well, maybe you should just let me do shit on my own from now on.  _

He just needs to  _ breathe _ . 

_ What does  _ _ that _ _ mean? _

Take a breath, Evan.

_ Maybe I don’t need you breathing down my fucking neck all the time. _

Breathe.

_ Connor, what—? _

Focus on the road.

_ Just forget it, okay? _

Let it go. He’s hurting. He didn’t mean it. 

_ No, I won’t— tell me what you meant. Tell me what you were gonna say.  _

He didn’t mean it. He didn’t.

_ Just get in the fucking car. _

A deer decides to run out in front of his car at that exact moment, Evan swerving expertly to the side and missing it by an inch. Evan frantically checks his mirrors, takes in his surroundings, coming back to himself and praising whatever deity is listening that there are no other cars on the highway. 

“Fuck,” Evan breathes, trying to catch his breath. His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest. “Oh my god. Fuck.”

“What the fuck was that?” Connor asks genuinely, eyes wide as he pulls an earbud out. 

“Deer,” Evan says with a gasping breath, and for a moment he forgot he was supposed to be upset with Connor. But then it all comes crashing back when he momentarily meets Connor’s eyes.

“I thought they only ran out at night, fuck— Are you okay? Do you need—”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Evan snaps, readjusting his hands on the wheel. He shakes his head, stretching out his neck. “Just. Listen to your music, or whatever.”

He still hasn’t controlled the beating of his heart. His hands are shaking on the wheel.

Connor sighs. “Evan.”

Evan shuts his eyes for a second, huffing out a giant breath that comes across as a bitter laugh. “What?”

“Evan, pull over.”

Connor sounds so calm, so  _ not _ angry, and that just makes Evan  _ angrier _ .

“Why? You don’t think— you don’t think I can handle an hour drive?”

“Oh my _god—_ _please_ pull over. You’re having a panic attack. We can fight later, just listen to me first.”

For some reason, that last sentence punches him right in the gut. 

He sighs angrily, giving in and pulling over to the side of the road. He jabs at the hazard button so hard that it actually hurts, but he tries not to show it as he puts the car in park and clunks his head against the steering wheel. His breathing is rapid and he can’t seem to get it under control, replaying the fight and the deer and everything in his mind on a constant loop. And it’s only getting worse; he brings his arms up to cover his face because he’s sure tears are going to fall and the last thing he wants is to cry in front of Connor when Connor probably just wants him gone. And the clicking sound of the hazard lights is so fucking annoying, and no one’s saying anything, and the heat is cranked up too high, and Evan’s just hyperventilating in this fucking car while Connor just sits there. 

He takes in a shaky breath, and. And it takes him a couple of seconds to realize it, but then Connor’s gently grabbing his hand, extending two of his fingers and. Evan feels a gentle  _ thump thump, thump thump _ underneath his fingertips. He feels it when Connor takes a breath in, feels it when Connor exhales, and somehow he manages to take a short breath in. 

“Good,” Connor murmurs, and Evan just shakes his head, because. Just an hour ago, Connor was telling him how much he wished Evan was gone. How much he wanted Evan to stop  _ bothering _ him, to go  _ away _ . 

He doesn’t  _ get _ it. 

Eventually his breathing settles down and steady streams of tears are dripping down his face, down his jaw and neck, and he sniffs as snot threatens to run down, too. But Connor’s heartbeat is still steady under his fingers, just as strong as ever, and. 

He has a question. It’s burning at the edges of every single thought he’s had since this morning, tainting every single breath and blink and it’s fucking eating him up inside. 

“Are you gonna break up with me?” He asks timidly, voice scratchy and he sounds so fucking small and broken. He hates it. He wants to be  _ strong _ . 

Connor breathes a surprised laugh. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Evan lifts his head from the steering wheel, finally getting a good look at Connor for the first time since they got in the car. Unlike before, he’s sitting with his body completely facing Evan’s. He’s leaning forward, so much he’s almost in Evan’s seat, holding Evan’s hand to his neck with the most worried and bewildered expression Evan’s ever seen on him. 

It’s heart wrenching.

And so,  _ so _ confusing. 

“You said— you said you wished I wasn’t  _ breathing down your neck _ all the time,” Evan recounts bitterly, pulling his hand away from Connor and facing the driver’s window. The snow is getting heavier now, falling fast onto the highway as cars pass by faster than he can see. “So if you’re breaking up with me, just say it. I can still take you to the hospital, I’m not a  _ monster— _ ”

“Shit, Evan, I didn’t— just—  _ fuck _ ,” Connor says, taking a breath. “I didn’t even mean that. Like, at all. I was just— I was just being a dick. I was mad. Not at you, I just.”

Evan sniffs. 

“You don’t have to lie, I. I’ll be okay, I won’t. I mean, I’ll cry, because— but I won’t, like, hold it against you or anything. So.”

“You  _ actually _ think—” Connor cuts himself off, and Evan hears him flop back into his seat. “Fuck.  _ Shit _ . I am... so fucking sorry, Evan. I didn’t mean that at  _ all _ . I’m so sorry.”

Evan wipes his nose with the back of his hand, turning to glance at Connor. He’s got his head in his hands, pulling at his hair so much it looks like it hurts. 

“Stop that,” Evan says gently, and Connor’s eyes meet his and he’s fucking crying. 

Connor’s crying. 

For the second time in twenty-four hours. 

Evan’s seen him cry maybe five times since they’ve met.

And it hits Evan, suddenly. Why they’d even been fighting in the first place. 

Connor looks away, scrunching his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up. I fucked up so badly, Evan. I’m sorry. Please don’t—”

“Connor,” Evan says, “Hey. Look at me.”

And he does. He looks up at him through his hair, looking like a little kid who’s just broken a vase and has no idea why they even did it in the first place.

“You… didn’t mean it,” Evan asks gently.

“God, of course not, fuck— you’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I don’t know what I’d fucking do if we weren’t—”

“Okay, it’s okay— can I— kiss me?” Evan asks breathlessly, because he just needs it, and it’s something he had no idea he needed until this exact moment but if he doesn’t kiss Connor in the next five seconds he’s going to die.

Connor nods quickly, reaching forward and pulling Evan to him so fast he barely sees Connor’s head shake. And then they’re kissing and it’s magical— Connor’s hands in his hair and on his face and the way he makes every single brush of their lips count, he speaks words of love into Evan’s mouth and the majority of Evan’s self-doubt washes away. 

“I’m sorry,” Connor tells him again, lips pressed to Evan’s. 

“I know.”

… 

“You should go home,” Cynthia whispers to Evan, jolting him from that weird state of half-sleep. “You should take him home.”

Evan glances over at Connor’s chosen spot in the hospital room, the chair in the far corner nearest to the wall. He’s all curled up in that uncomfortable plastic chair, head against the wall, out like a light. Next to him, Zoe’s slumped down in her chair with a hoodie draped over her head. 

“His bedroom’s still set up,” Cynthia adds, and Evan blinks at her. He’d forgotten she was there. She looks so tired and sickly in the bright fluorescent lights. “I know it’s not much, but—”

“No, no, um. Thank you. Thanks. Really, I, um. We appreciate it a lot.”

Cynthia reaches up and pats his cheek. “I’m so glad he has someone like you, Evan.”

Evan blushes. It’s something about this hushed conversation, everyone else in the room sleeping soundly, that makes it so special. So meaningful. Evan blinks back an onslaught of surprise tears, desperate to change the subject. 

“Um—  _ Zoe _ , are you and Zoe—? Do you two need a ride, or—?”

Cynthia smiles sweetly at him. “No, thank you. Zoe would kill me if she found out I sent her home.” She glances over at her two kids, ever so fond. “They’re both so alike. So stubborn. No wonder they butted heads so much as children.”

“Yeah,” Evan says helplessly.

Cynthia just looks at them, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Um,” Evan says, and then stops because he has no idea what he even planned to say in the first place. “Connor’s. He was really worried.”

Cynthia squares her jaw, nods. “We all were. He didn’t… he didn’t act like it much when he was a teenager, but… I know he loves his father. Deep down, he does. And Larry did some things that… I don’t necessarily agree with, but… I love him, too. And he loves them.” She nods at Connor and Zoe. “More than he’d ever admit. I’m… I’m so glad he’s okay.”

Evan just nods. 

“Well, um—” Cynthia wipes a stray tear from under her eye, “I’ll let you— you two should head back to the house—”

“ _ Yeah _ , yeah, I’m— I’ll just—”

Evan stumbles over to Connor in his half-sleep stupor. “Connor?”

He groans, rolling away from Evan and then realizing he’s on a chair and he actually can’t roll anywhere. 

“The fuck?” He slurs, lifting his head to look around the room. He rubs his eyes, blinking like he’s adjusting to the light. “Ev?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Evan says softly, grabbing Connor’s hand. 

“I miss our bed,” Connor groans sleepily, and Evan’s ears tinge red at the statement for some reason. It feels… weird to be talking about their bed that they  _ share _ and  _ sleep in _ and  _ do other things in _ right in front of Connor’s mother. 

“We’ll be in bed soon, don’t worry,” He mumbles quietly before he’s realized what he’s said, reddening, making sure Cynthia’s not within earshot because the conversation could very easily be mistaken for something it’s not.

“We’d better,” Connor yawns, standing from the chair and wobbling a bit on his feet. “Mom?”

“Yes, baby?” Cynthia’s eyes are sparkling. 

“See you tomorrow,” He says with a yawn. 

She nods. “Tomorrow.”

Connor’s out by the time Evan gets him to the car, head tilted back against the headrest, lips parted. His eyelashes fan out across his cheeks and there’s not a single worry on his face. Not a single wrinkle on his forehead, jaw relaxed. Evan can’t help but push his hair off his forehead, tuck it behind his ear and kiss him on the nose. Connor’s face scrunches up and he turns over with a little grunt, leaning against the frozen window. 

Evan doesn’t take offense to it. 

The drive this time is quiet. Not in the way it was before, full to the brim of words they were too angry to say, but just. Quiet. Evan’s mind is silent too, watching the road pass beneath them in the headlights, and Connor’s soft breaths are knocking Evan’s anxieties out one by one until they’re in the driveway of Connor’s giant family home and all Evan wants to do is collapse into bed. 

“Hey,” Evan whispers, placing a hand on Connor’s arm. Connor just groans. “Hey, Connor, we’re here. Let’s go inside.”

“No,” Connor groans, turning over and grabbing Evan’s hand. “‘S cold.”

Evan can’t help the affection pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Connor. Come on.”

Connor groans again. Evan smirks at him. 

“Bed is inside,” He offers knowingly. 

Connor blinks his eyes open. “Bed is good.”

“Let’s go to bed.”

And, like. Over the last couple of years Evan had managed to forget just how fucking small a twin bed is. Even though he lived on campus his first year and so did Connor, cramming themselves into one twin XL bed more than three nights a week just to be closer to each other, they’d been sharing a queen for so long that a twin feels like they’re camping out on a couch or something. 

But to be fair, they’ve never really needed that much room in the first place. 

And the way Connor flops onto his old bed and holds open his arms to Evan, eyes already closed, just proves Evan’s point. 

He settles into those arms just as easily as he always has, Connor’s gentle breaths against his forehead. 

… 

“Ev,” He hears through a curtain of fog. He’s not sure if he’s dreaming it or not, not entirely. So he rolls over, blinking blearily in the early light of the morning. But just as soon as he settles back into the soft blankets, a warm weight shifts closer to him. 

“Evan.”

He hears the voice in his ear, and it turns out he’s not dreaming because he can feel the heat of breath against the side of his face. 

“What?” He tries to ask, but it comes out as more of a  _ wuh _ ? as he shoves his face back into the pillows. 

“Love you,” Connor mumbles, kissing the side of his jaw. 

“What—? I love you too,” Evan grumbles sleepily, rolling over to face Connor. “Duh.”

Connor’s smiling sweetly at him, running a hand through his hair. “Forgot to tell you,” He says sheepishly, glancing away. Evan’s breath gets caught in his throat, a rush of affection bringing color to his cheeks. 

“When?” Evan asks, clearing his throat when it comes out crackly. 

“Last night. Before we went to sleep.”

Evan huffs a laugh. “So did I.”

“It’s okay. I got us covered.”

“Right,” Evan grins, pulling Connor impossibly closer to him. He can already feel the arms of sleep pulling him in again. “Love you.”

Connor chuckles at him. “Go to sleep, dork.”

“No,” Evan mumbles against Connor’s shoulder. His eyes won’t stay open. “I refuse.”

“Okay, fine. Suffer, then.”

“I will,” Evan quips. 

“Good.”

And of course, now that he’s awake, he’s awake. And since Connor’s shoulder is practically already in his mouth, well. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Connor laughs, and Evan’s giggle is muffled against Connor’s skin. “This is… this is so weird.”

Evan pulls back, mock-offended. “What’s  _ weird _ ?”

“This is, like… it’s meta, almost. Y’know?”

“No.”

Connor sighs, frustrated. He rolls his eyes and it’s the most beautiful thing Evan’s ever seen. “We, like…” He trails off, staring up at the ceiling. “We had our first kiss on this bed.”

Oh. Right. 

“I remember that,” Evan says almost nervously, all of those teenage emotions hitting him out of left field. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that Connor’s pressed up against him in pretty much every single way there is to be pressed up against someone. He remembers how in his head he used to get about that stuff. “I was so… Jesus. We were so...”

“Yeah,” Connor laughs breathlessly. “We were a fucking disaster.”

“Oh, shut up,” Evan says, lightly punching Connor on the arm. He leaves it there. “We were alright. Y’know. At what we did.”

“Evan. Jesus Christ.”

“What?” Evan asks, laughing. He pokes Connor’s cheek. “We  _ were _ . We are.”

“Yeah, okay, alright. You win. Whatever.”

And Connor’s totally got morning breath but Evan doesn’t really mind all that much, obviously, because he lets Connor roll on top of him and rest his hands on Evan’s jaw, kissing him so sweetly. 

“Your hands are cold.”

Connor laughs against his mouth, presses his fingers into the squishy parts of Evan’s cheeks. “Warm them up, then.”

“How do you expect me to do that?” Evan asks, nipping at Connor’s bottom lip. 

“I dunno, depends on where I’m allowed to put my hands.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules. It’s  _ your _ childhood bed that you’re about to ruin the sanctity of forever.”

Connor snorts. “Ah, yes, the childhood bed that holds  _ so _ many fond memories for me. Wouldn’t want to make  _ better _ ones in it or anything.”

Evan feels like his face is about to crack open from how much he’s fucking smiling. Anticipation catches in his throat and he wonders if Connor’s ever going to stop making him feel like this. Like he’s the only other person in the entire world. 

“ _ Rude _ . I’m pretty sure— I’m pretty sure we, like…  _ messed around _ for the first time in this bed, too.”   
  


Connor leans back, narrows his eyes. “Did we? I thought… the first  _ time _ was in this bed. We fucked around for the first time on your couch.”

Shit. Connor’s right. 

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Or—“

“Or was it Kleinman’s couch?” Connor finishes his thought. 

They both study each other for a second. 

And then the corner of Evan’s mouth quirks up without his permission. 

And then Connor buries his head in Evan’s chest, slumping forward and actually cackling. Like a witch. Like, he’s actually losing his shit, shaking with laughter, and it’s apparently really infectious because then Evan’s laughing, gripping onto Connor’s shoulders so he doesn’t accidentally roll off of Evan and onto the floor. 

“Did we—” Evan cuts himself off, resting his head against the pillows so he can’t see Connor’s face because if he sees Connor’s face he’s gonna start fucking laughing again. “Did we really—  _ get each other off _ on Jared’s couch?” 

“Oh my god,” Connor laughs, coughing a couple of times. “I think we fucking did.”

“Why did we—? Oh my  _ god _ .”

Connor gasps, climbing further on top of Evan to look him in the eyes. He grabs the sides of Evan’s face. “You know what I just realized?”

“What?”

“Hear me out, okay?”

Evan narrows his eyes, but. 

It’s kind of hard to say no to Connor when his hair is all messy from sleep and his eyes are bright and Evan can see the underside of Connor’s jaw since he’s very much above him, and his eyes can trail down the length of Connor’s neck to his collarbones that are popping out of the shirt he’s wearing, and…

“Ev. Evan.”

Evan clears his throat. “Yes. Hi. I’m here. Listening. Hearing you out.”

So maybe he’s not  _ entirely _ rid of his teenage self yet. Whatever. 

“Okay, so… since we’ve gotta be back in this shitty town anyway, we can just. Go visit our dear old friend Jared and show our past selves how it’s done.” Connor’s become a lovely shade of pink.

Evan’s mouth drops open in a smile. “Okay, but also… we could just do it  _ here _ . Y’know, to save time. And gas. And… our collective humility. We are adults now, of course.”

“Please tell me you did  _ not _ just refer to fucking as  _ doing it  _ as a twenty year old man.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Connor leans down, presses their noses together. “I mean, sure. But what about my childhood bed? The  _ sanctity _ ?”

Evan’s hands land on Connor’s waist. “Consider it ruined.”

Their lips barely connect when they hear an incessant buzzing coming from Connor’s bedside table. 

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Connor groans, knocking his forehead with Evan’s. “This is really starting to feel like high school, isn’t it? Fuck.”

Connor stretches over Evan, his shirt riding up on his stomach. And Evan can’t help but run his hands up Connor’s sides, of course, and Connor lets out this adorable burst of laughter.

“God dammit, you fucking—”

He settles back on Evan’s lap. His smile drops when he looks at the phone, and. It all comes back. 

The reality of the situation. Why they’re here. It’s like they’re never going to be able to escape it, not even for a second. 

“Your mom?” Evan asks. The entire mood of the room has shifted just slightly on the uncomfortable side. 

“Yeah.”

“Put it on speaker,” Evan says before he can stop himself. “But, like, you don’t have to, I get it if—”

Connor shakes his head. “No, yeah.” He answers and Cynthia’s voice comes crackling through the phone.

“Connor?”

“Yeah, hi. What’s going on?”

“Just wanted to check in, see how you two are doing. Everything good? I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Connor’s face changes, the mood lightens just a little bit. And the look on his face is enough for Evan to have to bite down on one of his knuckles in order not to laugh. 

“No, you, um. You  _ really _ didn’t, don’t worry, mom.”

“You used to sleep in  _ so _ late, do you remember that? Oh, but you’re in college, I bet you still stay up all night studying sometimes. I remember what the college life is like.”

Connor bites his lip. “Yeah.  _ Studying _ and all that, you know. That’s definitely why I stay up so late.”

Evan digs his fingers into Connor’s sides and he almost doubles over in laughter. 

“But anyway, baby, your dad’s doing so much better than he was last night. The nurses told us this morning that he can go home later tonight, isn’t that great?”

Connor’s hand seems to land instinctively on Evan’s arm, slipping down to press a thumb against his wrist. His eyes are somewhere else, somewhere far away. Evan hopes he isn’t too far. “Yeah, that’s. That’s great, mom.”

“The doctor said as long as he doesn’t strain himself too much he should be alright for now. And if we ever notice him becoming sluggish again, of course, we should bring him in…”

“Yeah.”

“But we shouldn’t get too ahead of ourselves, thanks Zoe. You’re right.” Then there’s some shuffling, and.

“Get your lazy asses back here,” Zoe says suddenly into the phone. Evan can hear her smiling. “And bring McDonald’s. Dad and I are hungry.”

And then Larry’s in the background of the call, protesting, and Cynthia’s scolding, and.

“Mom?” Connor says, looking up and to the right. He’s scheming, Evan can tell. 

Cynthia laughs Connor’s laugh. “Yes, baby?”

“Will you pass her a message for me?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, um. Here it is.” He clears his throat, and Evan prepares for the worst. 

“Dear Zoe: Fuck off and get your own McDonald’s. Love, Connor.”

… 

They do end up picking up McDonald’s for everyone, actually. 

It’s… weird, if Evan’s being honest. The fact that this terribly broken family was able to get over everything in the past just because of Larry’s condition. In high school when Evan and Connor had just started hanging out, all sweaty hands and secret crushes, it was never at Connor’s house. Ever. Because there was too much fighting for Connor to feel comfortable bringing Evan over. 

Except that one time no one was home. Which was an interesting night, to say the least. 

But Evan doesn’t think it’ll ever stop being weird seeing all of the Murphys interacting without ill intention behind their words. And it’s especially weird seeing Connor and Zoe sitting in the same room together, let alone  _ right next to each other _ , stealing fries from out of each other’s bags when the other isn’t looking. It almost feels  _ normal _ . Like a normal family. 

It’s weirdly good.

And to think Evan had once thought that people couldn’t change. 

For the majority of his life he was convinced that things would never get better. Not for him, not for his mother, not for the world, not for anyone. He was sure that things were just going to remain stagnant; that everything was bad and it was going to stay bad forever. He tricked himself into believing that he was going to be a disappointment for the rest of his life, working fast food to make a living because no other employer would accept him with his stupid fucking anxiety disorder. He believed that he was never going to find someone who truly loved him, that no one could ever love him in the first place and that he was going to spend eternity with just himself. Alone.

He believed he was stuck. For the rest of his life, however long that life may be.

And although Connor wasn’t the only reason he changed his mind, he was a big part of it. He made Evan feel like he meant something. Like he mattered. He managed to convince Evan that  _ yes _ , he could write a winning scholarship essay, and  _ yes _ , he’s actually really funny when he wants to be, and  _ yes _ , he can find someone who loves him. He’s good enough. 

And to think that before all of that, he was considering throwing his life away. He tried to throw his life away. He almost  _ succeeded _ .

He looks at Connor now, sticking his tongue out at his sister as his mother and father watch from afar. How Connor’s eyes are sparkling, how his hair is washed and the cuts on his arms are almost invisible save for a couple and how he’s not even afraid to show his arms, not anymore. And how he doesn’t hide behind a curtain of his own hair, how he’s able to communicate instead of pushing people away and how he’s giving his family a chance to be a family again, and it’s just. So hard to believe that they’ve all come this far. 

But they’re not in high school anymore, are they?

“You ready to go?” Connor asks him with a hand on his arm, and as Evan zones back into the conversation he realizes hours have passed by in seemingly a matter of minutes. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.”

Their goodbyes are mostly silent, but they speak louder than words could ever manage to. Larry manages to stand up long enough to give both of them that fatherly back-pat hug that all dads with masculinity insecurities seem to give. It’s heartwarming. Cynthia holds on to Evan longer than is necessary, as she always does, and does the same to Connor. Zoe gives Evan a fistbump, and with a little encouragement from her mother, shuffles up to Connor and into an awkward side-hug with a roll of her eyes that so closely resembles Connor’s.

On the car ride back, Evan glances over at Connor every couple of minutes. He’s leaned back in the seat, this adorable peaceful look on his face, earbuds stashed away in his sweatshirt pocket. And even though Evan complains, he doesn’t  _ really _ mind Connor’s feet up on the dash. 

Even though it’s extremely dangerous. 

Okay, he minds. But Connor’s  _ happy _ and they make it back in one piece, both of them, so Evan can complain about it later. 

It’s nighttime when they finally pull into the almost-full parking lot of their apartment, searching for what seems like ages to find a spot that Evan deems close enough, and they begin the hike up the stairs to the little home they’ve made for themselves. 

Connor kicks off his boots in the same place he always does, one kicked on top of the other, and Evan places his neatly next to them. His keys are hung up on the same hook as usual, the one on the right, Connor’s dangling on the hook to the left, and Connor locks the door behind them like he always does. It’s routine.

“Ugh. It’s fucking cold in here,” Connor whines as he flips the lights on. “You paid the heating bill, right?”

Evan stops for a second.

_ Did _ he pay the heating bill? Wasn’t Connor supposed to pay the heating bill this month?

But then Connor’s walking up to him with a shit-eating grin, looking up through his lashes and okay, yeah, Evan gets it. Ha-ha. Hilarious.

“You’re very funny,” Evan deadpans, rolling his eyes and pushing right past him. He can’t help the smirk that overtakes his entire face when Connor scoffs.

“Hey, I was gonna  _ kiss you _ , you fucking loser,” He hears from behind him. 

Evan heads down the hall, stepping over the strap of Connor’s bag like it’s always been there. “Guess you’re out of luck. Sorry.”

He pushes open the door to their room, stepping over the clothes strewn about the floor from their frenzied packing. It all feels like such a long time ago, the worry and the fighting and the chaos. 

And as soon as he starts to turn around to check that Connor’s following him he’s being pushed backwards onto their bed, giggling as Connor climbs on top of him and plants the loudest, most over-dramatic kiss on Evan’s lips with a  _ smack _ . 

“There. I win.”

And Evan can’t even think of a reply. He can’t think of a smart remark or quip or joke, he just wants to kiss Connor again. And again. 

“You win,” He agrees lamely, shrugging and watching Connor watch him. He’s pretty sure he’s winning in this particular situation, and like, in  _ life _ , but he’s not gonna fight Connor on that. 

And then Connor’s face shifts. He leans back, grabbing Evan’s hands and looking to the side. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Just… I’m about to be vulnerable, okay? I’m taking Lisa’s advice. I’m… being open.  _ Open communication _ , or whatever bullshit term they use in therapist school.”

Evan squeezes Connor’s hands. “Okay.”

“I… am.” Connor closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “I’m really glad you, like… came with me, and stuff. And I know I got all pissed at you in the car, and that was fucked up of me, but… thank you. For staying. And for everything, basically.”

Evan swallows thickly. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I know you would,” Connor breathes, finally opening his eyes. “I love you. More than anything.”

Evan takes one of Connor’s hands, brings it to rest on his chest. He hopes Connor can feel how much Evan’s heart beats for him, how much Evan fucking adores him because words don’t say it well enough. 

“I love you too.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
